


The Kash Flow Problem

by NotHereNJ (efficaceous)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Feel free to skip this I won't mind, Grooming, Kashwak No Fo (aka Kash is the literal worst), M/M, No explicit Kash/Ian scenes but we all KNOW what happens, only explicit Ian/Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efficaceous/pseuds/NotHereNJ
Summary: Part 1 is Kash's perspective on Ian Gallagher.Part 2 Shifts to Ian's perspective on their "relationship."Part 3 is when Mickey comes into the picture.There is clear grooming of an underage person by an adult. There is NO explicit adult/underage sex in this story.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Kash Karib, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 78





	1. Part 1: He came to me with the sweetest smile/Told me he wanted to talk for a while

Kash Karib hadn’t known exactly what he was getting when he hired Ian Gallagher to work in his shop. He had _hopes_ , of course he did, why else would he hire adolescent boys, boys just on the cusp of their growth spurts, just shifting from lanky children to young men. Kash Karib was not a good person, but he had what he thought was a good plan.

The plan had worked out, with differing degrees of success, in the past. Sometimes, quite well, and he had a new friend for months. Other times, he had to put the black and orange Help Wanted sign back in the window. It helped that he was the one doing the hiring and could ask those pointed questions that teenagers, interviewing for their very first job, didn’t know were inappropriate or illegal.

_“How many siblings do you have?”_

_“Are both your parents at home?”_

_“Do you have a girlfriend?”_

Every time, he started off with the same overtures to his new employee, and Ian Gallagher was no different. Friendly conversations, talking about baseball, or school, or whatever kids watched on TV these days. Kash would let Ian tell him about new bands, let him play songs on Kash’s phone while they were working in the story together, Kash behind the register and Ian unpacking and stacking the endless boxes of stock.

Next, Kash would test the waters, see if the kid was willing to cross boundaries. Not sexual ones at first, of course not. You didn’t start off by asking for what you wanted, you started with little things, things the other person needed.

_“Here, take some extra juice for your family.”_

_“Do you need to leave early to finish your essay? I’ll clock you out later, don’t worry about it.”_

Slowly, insidiously, these exchanges of favors on Kash’s part created a sense of obligation or dependence in his employee. Or, they usually did.

Ian Gallagher took the juice: with five siblings, any free food was a boon. But he never let Kash clock him out late, always stayed past the end of his shift in fact, helping to close up. So Kash pressed more food on him, starting with expired produce and then working his way up to brown, cardboard boxes of staples every week.

Those grateful looks, Ian’s too-big, soft, green eyes, make Kash feel unexpected warmth. He told himself that he was building something, with Ian. Something different, that would go beyond the physical, he hoped. Something that would last longer than a few months. So he kept laying groundwork, putting in the hours to solidify their friendship. Good things took time.

He knew Ian thought they were close, valued what they were developing. Ian had talked to him about it, _“You’re my first adult friend.”_

But Kash needed to hold out for the next phase of the plan, needed to be patient and wait for an opportunity to present itself. He’d never had success when he pushed too fast at this juncture, had always moved too suddenly, been too blunt, scared them off.

Instead, he made sure Ian would always be thinking of him, presenting him with the jacket like it was no big deal, when in fact it had set him back almost $200. He wanted Ian Gallagher to walk around wrapped up in Kash, owned by Kash, even if he didn’t know it yet.

On a Sunday morning, he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Ian Gallagher was working the register, ostensibly filling out a restocking form, but his eyes were pinned to the customer who had just entered the shop, talking animatedly on his cell phone.

The man wore tight, runner’s compression pants that looked painted on, a dark maroon that accented his olive complexion. Not dissimilar to Kash’s own. But Ian wasn’t staring to compare fashion sense, no his eyes were locked on the man’s tight buttocks, firm and round in the binding material as he paced down the short aisles, looking for a Kind bar.

That’s when Kash began to suspect, but he wasn’t certain, couldn’t be sure. He studied the evidence. Ian didn’t have a girlfriend, and rarely talked about girls. Which could be a natural reticence to discuss such matters with an adult, but Kash had put so much work into breaking down those barriers between them, he hoped that wasn’t it. When Ian browsed a magazine, his eyes seemed to linger on the men in suits, moreso than the women showing off far too much cleavage. More evidence, more clues.

The only way to know for sure was to get Ian to tell him, so Kash began the next stage of the process: hinting at his own sexuality and unhappiness. They had to be linked in Ian’s mind, that Kash was unhappy because he couldn’t be out and proud, so the only way for a caring boy to help his friend be happy was…

He hoped.

Kash talked about Linda, about their arranged marriage. How he’d come home from university one day and his father had told him he was to be married. How it had made his mother so happy to see his wedding, but inside, Kash was dying because- He’d never loved Linda. She was a raging bitch, a harpy who had raised their children to hate him too. Always mocking him, telling the kids his only value as a father was to work and make money for them to spend.

Ian had looked askance at that, unable to imagine a family where a working father _wouldn’t_ be a positive thing. Kash pressed on. He never wanted the kids, that was all Linda. She practically forced him to sleep with her, he never liked it.

_“She’s too soft, her skin, I mean.”_

_“I was a virgin when we got married, I didn’t even know how sex worked.”_

_“After the kids were born, it, you know,_ **_it_ ** _changed. She felt different, down there.”_

These were lies, but they sounded good. Painted the picture of him as a poor, confused young man who suddenly found himself in a loveless marriage. Just needing someone with a heavy dash of hero complex to come along and save him.

Kash might have been a bad person, but he was a master at this part, and Ian eventually came to him in tears. Chokingly, snot unattractively dripping from his nose, he asked Kash,

_“I think I’m gay. Do you hate me now?”_

He had to contain his grin, schooling his features to an expression of empathy and concern.

_“What, Ian? No, of course not! Why would you think that?”_

It all spilled out. Ian had been _“hiding who he was”_ because he respected Kash’s religious beliefs. Now Kash pressed his advantage, scooting close beside him on the edge of the office desk, hip to hip. 

When had Ian gotten so tall? They were nearly face to face, and Ian was only 15. Kash was more than twice his age, but he tamped that thought down, focused on the tearful boy next to him. 

_“Ian, I could never hate you for being gay.”_

He left the pregnant pause, hoping Ian was bright enough to get the clue. Some of them weren’t, and that always made things more tedious. Zachary, for instance. He’d had to drag Zachary to the realization that Kash, too, was gay. He had resorted to some farcical machinations, and ultimately left a gay porno magazine for Zachary to _“come across accidentally.”_

Ian was plenty bright. Kid had a future, was going somewhere outside this shitty town: Kash could tell. He turned, forest-green eyes shining as he stared at Kash, who leaned forward, licking his lips, trying to give the kid the final hint. 


	2. Part 2: My only friend was the man in the moon/And even sometimes he would go away too

Ian couldn’t believe his good luck. His boss, now his boyfriend, jeez, were they boyfriends? 

_ What did you call your married boss who you fucked and couldn’t stop thinking about and wanted to talk to and came into work on your days off just to be around? _

His boss, he settled on for now, was into him. And it was so great. His first adult relationship, grown from a genuine friendship, with mutual attraction. It felt so healthy, so unlike what Frank and Monica had, or what Fiona did on and off. Kash was super fucking thoughtful, always helping him out, showing him cool shit, letting him do whatever he wanted 

Like last night, Kash’d let Ian put practically his whole hand up his ass. He’d gone real slow, and used a shit ton of lube, because he’d seen it in a porn clip online. It was pretty hot to try, but he decided in the future he’d rather just fuck Kash. 

There was always a downside, though. At first, it was just that they had to hide and sneak around, cause of Linda. But then, last night- Kash had called him someone else’s name. And not a man’s name, either. Zachary was a kid’s name. Men went by Zack, or maybe Z, if they were real cool. 

So Kash had a boyfriend before him, so what? Ian had fucked other guys before Kash. Well, one guy. Adults in relationships had pasts, you moved past that shit. That was what it meant to be mature, Ian told himself.

Until one afternoon when a short, whippet-thin man a few years older than Ian walked into the store, and Kash’s fuckin’ face lit up like it was Muslim Christmas. 

“Zachary! How long’s it been?”

Ian watched the two men hug with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Maybe Kash thought he’d forgotten, but Ian didn’t let shit go. He was real good at acting like he had and then getting his later- had to be, to keep up with Lip and Carl. Even Debbie had a poker face on her for 12.

After a brief conversation, Zachary paid for a gatorade and left.

That was good, right? Kash only gave Ian free stuff. Kash chose Ian, not Zachary. Short guys had small dicks, too, usually. 

But it preyed on his mind, played with his emotions and he started watching Kash differently. They still fucked, Ian was 15, and he wasn’t even gonna turn down an easy fuck from a willing guy. But his rose-colored glasses had shattered, and now he was seeing all the little flaws he’d been blind to before. 

How Kash would stare at every black kid who came in, watching to make sure they weren’t trying to steal anything. They usually were, but so was every kid who came in, regardless of color. 

Linda would call and ask about the day’s intake, and Kash would lie, every single day. He’d give Ian a wink, pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of the register and tucking it into a pocket. For no good reason, Kash wasn’t spending the money just taking it to fuck with Linda.

Kash’s kids were the worst. The little boy and girl would stand quietly in the store, dark eyes following their father’s every move as Linda gave him a list of chores. To Ian, it looked like the kids were begging and pleading for their father to give them a scrap of attention, but Kash would always give a snide comment, after they all left.

_ “Did you see them? Judging me just like their mother does, only wanting me for money.” _

He tried to make the magic come back, acquiesced to a tryst in Kash and Linda’s apartment when she was away for the weekend. But the tangible presence of Kash’s other life, jesus, the fucking smell of his other life that Ian had only previously noted in slight hints when he brought his face up close to Kash’s collar when fucking him from behind, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Kash’s other life actually had an odor, and smelling it made Ian’s stomach clench.

Plus there was the other thing.

Ian had met someone new. Well, met was a strong word. He’d  _ observed  _ someone new. Granted, the someone was coming for him with a baseball bat, but still. Hearing that voice shout his name in a sing-song tone should  _ not  _ have gotten him to half-mast, but his dick was a traitor. 

He wasn’t stupid- he ran and hid, equal parts terrified and aroused. Because even if he could avoid this beatdown, since he didn’t actually deserve it, his attraction was the issue. If Mickey Milkovich even guessed Ian had a thing for short, dark-haired, crass guys like him… Ian really would be a dead man.

Ultimately, he resorted to trusting Mandy, since Kash did fuck-all to help him with the problem, other than lie. Not that he expected more, but it would have been nice to feel like his boyfriend, or his boss, or whatever they were these days, had his back. So he caught Mandy alone, told her the truth, and braced for her reaction. Her light, airy laugh was musical to his ears, a reprieve from sudden and certain death. But the reprieve came with a catch- playing her boyfriend put him in close, frequent contact with her brothers. Her brother. With Mickey. 

Ian hadn’t said two words to him, at first, just looked at him, whenever they were in the same room. His eyes felt rinsed new, like when you wake up and everything’s a little gunky fuzzy, but you rub your eyes and suddenly it’s a clear new world? Looking at Mickey Milkovich was like that. 

This, this was how it was supposed to feel, when you looked at another man and found them attractive. Not like forcing yourself to look past sagging bellies or the first gray pube, Ian realized. But Mickey was just a grimy kid, stealing on and off, and Ian had no chance. He’d heard plenty of stories about the Milkovich boy’s fag bashing. How Kash had escaped their notice this long was a fucking miracle, really, cause he wasn’t subtle, with his little whines of Ian’s name across the shop.

_ “Iaaan, can you help me stack these cans?” _

_ “Iaaaan, can you stay late tonight for inventory?” _

_ “Iaaaaaan, I need you to work this weekend too, is that ok?” _

Mandy had picked up on it, and if Mandy saw it, everyone else should have too. She wanted him to stop, frowning that Kash was old and gross (he was old, but that was ok, old meant secure, and stable.) But the perks were too good, and despite his eyes being constantly drawn to Mickey’s ripped shirts and stained pants, Kash was a sure thing. They still needed the money, and he liked his job, basically. And he  _ likes  _ getting blown regularly, ok? He’s still a teenage boy, and the praise and moans sound like sweet music to his middle-child’s ears.

But the whining- Ian realized the power-dynamic between the two of them had changed. At some point it had shifted from Kash manipulating Ian to Ian feeling like he’s the one using Kash, somehow. Like he has to save him, protect him, comfort him during another lame evening spent holding Kash while he cried was like… the least sexy thing ever. Ian pushed those traitorous thoughts down, tried to focus on what he liked, the feeling of a body underneath him while he thrust, getting those care packages of food, and Fiona’s face when he added his weekly paycheck to the squirrel fund. Lip’s modicum of respect for his above-board occupation. 

The thoughts re-emerged. As he felt more and more mature and removed from the situation, Kash seemed to be acting younger and younger. More petulant, whiny almost. Like a little boy. It wasn’t appealing. Kash got needier, wanted Ian’s reassurances, wanted to fucking  _ go places _ with Ian. Like that was possible. But he kept bringing it up, talking about clubs in boy’s town where they’d fit right in. 

Ian wondered how Kash thought Ian would be allowed into these clubs, with no ID, but the older man just waved his concerns away. 

_ “When you’re with me, they don’t worry about things like ID.” _

Kash was speaking from experience, and it was the lack of bitterness rising in his mouth that told Ian he really had changed. Or Kash had changed. Or both of them, in different ways. In the past, he’d have been sick with jealousy at the idea of Kash taking another man to the club, been immediately prodded to do one better, go to the club and fuck Kash in the bathroom, maybe. But now, the image of Kash and a faceless other man, maybe a shorter, thinner one, didn’t send the same nauseous feeling up his spine.


	3. Part 3: Soon enough we reached Neverland/Peacefully my feet hit the sand and ever since that day...

Watching Kash weakly shrug when Ian asked him if Mickey had paid for the box of food was another nail in the coffin of Ian’s respect. The way Kash wouldn’t meet his eyes, ashamed, wanting Ian to be the man in the situation. Fuck, Ian  _ was  _ a man, but Kash was still the adult. There was some intangible difference between them, still, and Ian expected Kash to be able to handle his own shit, not wait like a beaten dog for Ian to handle shit for him. He knew it was probably PTSD or something, from when Terry had beaten Kash up, but Mickey wasn’t Terry. Mickey was just a grimy kid that either of them should be able to call the cops on, or take down.

_ “It’s the cost of doing business.” _

Those passive words, the words of someone who had given up, rung in Ian’s ears as Mickey suddenly appeared in the store again. Ian watched him with a mixture of disbelief, fury, and an undercurrent of something else, something he didn’t want to look at closely. 

Instead, he looked at Kash, trying to spur him to action. Kash just stared at his paperwork until Mickey left and Ian followed him out. 

When he confronted Mickey outside the store, he could feel Kash in the doorway, and it emboldened him. He may have looked like a skinny kid, but he was in ROTC and he was going places. Mickey was just a lowlife piece of scum who had no civic pride. He actually thought, with the little shrug that Mickey made, that he’d gotten through, for a moment. That Mickey would agree, go steal somewhere else from now on. Instead, Ian found himself ducking quickly to avoid the container of dip being hurled at him and Kash. 

_ “You know where I live if you have a problem!” _

That was Mickey’s final taunt, because Ian  _ did  _ know where he lived. And he did have a problem. More than one, actually. Now his job consisted of the usual selling and stocking, but also going and buying stuff to replace what Mickey stole. And he still couldn’t keep his eyes off the weird, duck-footed strut Mickey had as he walked around their part of town. 

He felt like he was seeing him everywhere, in the halls at school, on the corner outside the Kash N Grab, at Mandy’s, of course. But he also came to Lip to buy an English paper, and suddenly Ian couldn’t get away from Mickey, and most of him didn’t want to. It was confusing as fuck. 

Then Mickey stole Kash’s gun. Ian had long since stopped questioning why he wanted to stare at Mickey all day when he was such an asshole. The constant, overt stealing, talking shit to Mandy, threatening Kash, cutting classes: none of these were  _ attractive  _ traits. And yet.

Because Ian didn’t love Kash anymore (privately, he admitted to himself that he wasn’t sure he ever had) but he wasn’t gonna stand for this type of thing. Have some pride, some self-respect, and go steal from a place that wasn’t in their own backyard, for fuck’s sake. When he came in that day to find Kash bruised and beaten, Ian was resolved. He’d go deal with this like a man. 

He’d been to Mandy’s house a few times, usually when no one else was home, to hang out and put more color on their story of being boyfriend and girlfriend. Really, they just sat on the couch and gossiped while giving lip service to their homework. 

This time, she followed him around protesting while he tossed Mickey’s room. She couldn’t understand why he’d take his life into his hands so recklessly until he spit out,

_ “He hit Kash, ok?” _

Hearing it out loud, that he’d taken on the role of protector, drove home the way their relationship had changed. He and Kash weren’t equals, working together to face challenges. Kash was a milquetoast, and Ian now had another burden dragging him down.

Mandy finally pushed him out the door, face flat when Ian asked her to pass on the warning to Mickey. Trying to find Mickey was its own challenge- Ian circled the neighborhood, the dugouts, the bleachers behind the school, under the overpass. No Mickey. Finally, he went back to the store, but the sight of Kash’s blooming bruises just inflamed his anger anew and he set out back to the Milkovich house. He’d wait there, if he had to, for Mickey to come home.

Ian had left the store in a fit of pique and anger, without much planning, but when he saw the crowbar on the porch, it was like fate. He snuck in, carefully avoiding Terry snoring on the couch, and pushed the bedroom door open, ignoring the hand lettered Stay the Fuck Out sign, finding Mickey splayed out asleep on the narrow bed.

The fight wasn’t unexpected, though Ian was surprised that he lost the upper hand so many times. He thought with his ROTC background, all the workouts he’d been doing, he’d handily pin Milkovich down and force him to concede. However, Mickey was scrappy and mean, pretending to be winded or hurt only to come back with stunning blows to Ian’s body that had him gasping. 

Finally, Mickey got him down on the bed, and Ian squeezed his eyes shit, thinking it was over, thinking he was going to just be murdered right there. This would be how he died, murdered by a Milkovich, probably buried in a shallow grave, family always wondering.

But Mickey paused, hand raised to strike. That pause made Ian open his eyes warily, expecting another trick or trap. But something on Mickey’s face, the open-mouthed panting maybe, gave him a clue, and he glanced down, just a flick of his eyes at first. Mickey seemed helpless to do anything but follow where Ian’s eyes fell, and there was a moment of recognition there. 

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

Mickey was hard for him. Mickey Milkovich was  _ hard  _ for him. Mickey Milkovich was hard for  _ him _ .

All the lukewarm passion he’d felt with Kash was washed away by a wave of true lust, and Ian felt his own cock grow thick where it was trapped under the warm weight of Mickey’s ass. 

Fucking Mickey was like setting foot a new planet: gravity felt different, and his lungs were expanding past their previous limits. The sensitivity of his skin was so more more nuanced, and he could see each little detail: Mickey’s messy, unwashed hair, the tired bruises under his eyes, the old scars on his back. Ian wanted to taste, to kiss, to learn every one and overwrite them with his own messages.

The noises Mickey struggled to contain were so much more real than anything that have ever dropped from Kash’s lips, not the pale mimicry of a porno moans but genuinely aroused, punched out groans that couldn’t be help back no matter how hard Mickey bit his lips or buried his face in the pillow. 

Fully seated deep in Mickey’s ass, Ian came to two realizations. First, he never wanted to fuck Kash again, if he could help it. Second, this could never be a one time thing. He was still fucking Mickey and already fantasizing about the next time, about other positions, about kissing him. He thrust harder, trying to make this as good for Mickey as it was for him, reaching around to bat Mickey’s hand away from his dick, stroking once, twice, and then Mickey was shuddering and spilling, clenching around him, and Ian was coming too, coming harder than he’d ever come before, pouring what felt like his soul into Mickey’s ass.

Lying there awkwardly on the bed beside Mickey, Ian tried to process what had just happened. He had no idea what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no more to this story because I don't want to live in the grooming-world any more, thanks.


End file.
